


Divested

by okapi



Series: Clothes Make the Woman [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Fem!mycroft, Femslash, Genderswap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somber/Slightly Angsty PWP, Vaginal Fingering, breast binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John visits Mycroft in an upper room of the Diogenes Club. All genderswapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divested

**11:45 am**

When John read the text, she got up from the desk, went to the supply cabinet, and slipped two packets of surgical lubricant in her pocket. She returned to the desk and finished the notes on her latest patient. She feigned surprise and consternation when the alarms rang at 11:20 and the entire building, patients and staff alike, were evacuated. She did not stay too long among the milling curious on the pavement; she did not hear about the battery acid spill at the nearby mechanic shop or turn around to see the subsequent minor explosion. She started walking, not towards anything really, because she knew that, in moments, a sleek black car would pull up beside her and the door would open.

And it did.

She slid into the leather interior. Mycroft must know that Sherlock was well into day 4 of a Massive Strop. The detective’s manic restlessness, the acerbic insults, and the screeching violin at all hours had passed, and now she had settled into stony silence. John picked up extra hours at the surgery just to be out of the flat and doing something useful. 

One underground parking garage connected to another underground parking garage. She was then ushered through a door into a lift so old it might have been made for Louis XV himself. 

 

Mycroft was standing at a window, back to John as the door was opened. She cut a striking silhouette in shadow with the light streaming in around her. John walked to the twin window beside her, looking down at the street and then at Mycroft. 

Mycroft turned to meet John’s gaze. Her black suit was tailored to her form and under it she wore a stiff white shirt. Her chestnut hair was closely cropped, and flecks of grey appeared at the temples. She gave John a welcoming glance, one side of her mouth curving up in a slight smile; almost as if she was happily surprised at John’s appearance and not that it had been carefully orchestrated down to every minute and second, every move and countermove.

A heavy glass tumbler was on the table with ice and just a sliver of amber liquid. Certainly not enough to inebriate, not even enough to relax her, but it gave John something to do while she surveyed the room. 

There was a wooden valet stand angled beside an antique armchair and sofa. Soft, thick cloths covered the arms of the chair and sofa. 

Church bells rang faintly in the distance, and Mycroft pulled heavy curtains across the two windows. John put down her glass and flicked on a table lamp. John heard a lock bolt as she unbuttoned the cuffs of her shirt and rolled up her shirtsleeves. 

They met in the center of the room. Mycroft framed John’s head with her hands and scanned her face. John maintained her pleasant soft smile, making sure the British Government didn’t find any trace of what she was looking for. 

Mycroft released John’s head, turned around and held out her arms. John helped her out of her suit jacket and put it on the valet stand. Mycroft turned back and pulled her shirt out of her trousers. John crouched to the floor and untied Mycroft’s oxfords. Mycroft lifted her feet one by one while John slipped the shoes off and placed them on the bottom of the stand. Mycroft deposited her wallet, mobile and keys; trousers and socks joined the other clothes.

John looked down at Mycroft’s feet and gave a startled laugh. Her toenails were painted bright pink. A paisley swirl of rhinestones adorned each big toenail. John looked up at Mycroft, and an amused smirk silently answered her grin. John bent, picked up a foot and planted a kiss on each toenail. She rose, noting Mycroft’s white underpants. 

She started to unbutton the shirt, and the temperature in the room dropped. Mycroft’s gaze was coldly fixed on the wall, but John felt the pulse beneath her fingertips jump. Then, she saw it, a skin coloured band of fabric wrapped tightly around Mycroft’s chest. _Oh_. John swallowed hard. She pushed the shirt off of Mycroft’s shoulders and draped it on the valet stand. She moved around behind Mycroft, but hesitated as her fingers touched the Velcro closure of the band. Mycroft’s hands flew back and stopped any further movement. She took John’s hands in hers and put them on her waist, holding them there. John rested her forehead at the base of Mycroft’s neck; they breathed in unison for a while. 

Mycroft then led John by the hand to the sofa, positioning herself with one leg on the floor and the other kneeled on the seat, pushing her pelvis into the sofa arm. John spooned behind her and smoothed her hands down Mycroft’s neck and along her shoulders, down her back and over her buttocks. She repeated the light circling over and over until she felt Mycroft relax and press harder against the furniture. John guided Mycroft’s hips, swaying her rhythmically forward and back. Mycroft opened her legs wider. John gently pushed the fabric of Mycroft’s pants down, stretching it. John slipped her left hand between Mycroft’s legs and began tracing her labia with her index finger, slightly penetrating her folds, more teasing than probing. Mycroft scrambled for John’s other hand and pinned it under hers on the back of the sofa.

She squeezed John’s right hand hard, then softly, then hard again twice, softly once, and then three more times. Like a pattern. Like… _Jesus Christ. Morse code._

_Yes._

Mycroft thrust back on John’s finger, impaling herself impatiently. John fucked her noiselessly, added a second and then a third finger, feeling her soft wetness and the stretch of internal muscle. John removed her hand and applied the lubricant to the index finger of her right hand. She began to tease Mycroft’s rim, very gently. Mycroft grabbed her left hand and held it on the sofa arm, telegraphing her need. 

_Yes._

Mycroft rocked back and forth between the hard wood of the sofa arm and firmness of John’s fingers, three stretching her wet cunt and one deep in her arsehole. John wasn’t even sure when or if Mycroft had reached her release so silent was the room. But when she finally stilled, John leaned into Mycroft’s back and kiss softly between her shoulder blades. Despite Mycroft’s flush skin and glazed eyes, John looked at her nervously, questioningly, when she turned around. Mycroft gave her a very Holmesian huff, but one that was much too sated and satisfied to sting. 

Mycroft was leaning against the sofa arm, legs splayed. She leaned up and twisted her arms behind her; the sound of Velcro rending harshly pierced the air. She tossed the binder on the floor, and John sprang like an eager puppy, licking affectionately at her chest. She could feel Mycroft’s mute chuckle underneath her ribs. 

Somewhere from the valet stand, a very faint beep sounded. Mycroft’s entire countenance morphed into Machiavellian disguise. John was up, helping her back into her clothes and cleaning up the scene, quickly and efficiently. John felt a stab of melancholy when she eased Mycroft’s suit jacket back on her shoulders. Mycroft opened the small drawer to the valet stand. John took out the brush and swept Mycroft’s back and shoulders needlessly.

Mycroft turned quickly, took John’s hands in hers and squeezed them. 

_Yes._

And then she was gone.

The black car returned John to the surgery, where order had been restored to the morning’s chaos. She finished her shift and went home to Baker Street. After much cajoling and harassing, Sherlock consumed one piece of dry toast and a half cup of tea, the rest of which ended up thrown against the wall, below the bullet holes. As she climbed the stairs, it occurred to John that the way the Holmes sisters went through dishware disturbed her more than all the cloak and dagger summoning and body parts in the fridge. 

John came back down in her robe and drew herself a bath. She added a couple of drops of eucalyptus oil to the bathwater and got into the tub. She had done her bit for peace and justice for the day, and now she just wanted to sleep. She closed her eyes and let the warm fragrant water wash over her.


End file.
